


Meet the Prompt Book

by HarcourtHolmesII



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Individual warnings per chapter, Multi, Please Don't Copy This To Another Site, prompt list
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22922899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarcourtHolmesII/pseuds/HarcourtHolmesII
Summary: Dun Dun Du-Dah! This is a Prompt Book for all Team Fortress ideas and characters. Any stories you may suggest, have ideas for, or if you have something to inspire me, just comment and let me know and I'll get to writing. I love these characters and I just need more of them in my life!
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	1. Mann Co. Code of Conduct (Classified!!!)

“As per the Mann Co. Code of Conduct, any reading this must be of a certain security level. Insubordination or a violation of these rules will not be tolerated. Any who are reading this and not above security Clearance 2 are to be brought to Mister Hale or Miss Pauling for immediate termination of contract, and perhaps life.”

Okay, now to actually be serious. XD

My rules for this prompt book are the following:

  * I don’t do any explicit underage stuff – it can be implied, referenced or stated, but I do not like it and I will not give detail.
  * I don’t do explicit sexual gore; I do sexual, I do gore but I do not strive for those worlds to meet. (I may be a bit more lenient here than in my Batfamily prompt book for this rule, however.)



If you are unsure about a prompt, comment your idea anyway, and I’ll let you know if I am willing to work on it or not. Don’t worry! I am happy to have many ideas thrown at me!

I don’t have a set schedule for this prompt book, as real life is a thing that I must end up confronting every now and again. I will, however, get the stories out when I can, and will make an effort to do as many as possible!

Each prompt will have the appropriate warnings at the start of the chapter!

I love Medic, as he is my favourite of the nine mercenaries, but I love all of them! Encourage my introverted and depraved mind!

Sincerely,

Harcourt Holmes II.


	2. Snippets #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are a series of short snippets for ideas that I had in regards to Team Fortress 2. I have not completed them, and though I am interested in perhaps continuing them later down the line, I simply thought I might as well put these to paper now. (And by paper, I mean AO3).   
> I hope you enjoy them and these are just some of the ideas I had. Please, feel free to comment your own prompts, links to pictures or music that might inspire me, comment a quote or simply mention an idea you would love to see! I would love to hear all of them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- World War II  
> \- War  
> \- Violence  
> \- Horror  
> \- References to Death and Mutilation  
> \- World War II Racism

He couldn’t sleep. The explosions from his first day of combat blasted still throughout his eardrums, and he felt the ghost of his limbs where they were but where they should not be. Being blown apart by rocket launchers or gunned down by sentries were still etched into his memory, and despite the miracle that was the Respawn system, Mikhail still could not separate his present physical health, with his dying moments on the battlefield. How did they do this? How were they supposed to do this?

The seven mercenaries had each parted ways once the battle was over, not one word was spoken to Mikhail after the battle. It was a horrific loss, apparently, not that Mikhail understood why. They were alive, weren’t they? But their objective had been lost. They weren’t acting like this was a battle where strategic points were taken and lost in an instant; they were reacting as if it was all some kind of childish game. He did not understand how they could look at it this way.

Being the newest of the seven mercenaries, he supposed it took time to come to terms with what they faced every day. He was a mercenary. He had done some truly terrible things in his life. He was brought up defending his sisters and mother, night and day, up until a week ago when he left them behind. He had killed before, many times in fact, so that way he could protect his family and earn them a living, no matter the blood that stained the rubles he earned with each murder to his name.

Mikhail sat up in bed, pondering this mess he had gotten himself into. He should have just snapped that woman’s neck when she turned up on his doorstep, threatening to reveal where his family had hidden themselves away. He should have! But she had promised him work, with enough money to sustain his family long after he had died. And it was far away from the horrors of his home. But, it meant being far away from his mother and sisters. Did no one else in this base have anyone to go back to? Did none of them really care how they saw their entrails on the outside each time they were on the battlefield? They were fighting a stalemate. The game had ended ages ago, and yet here they were, pawns circling each other on a complex chess board.

It was a soft sound that got Mikhail’s attention. Light, soothing and beautiful. He had not heard such a sound in… well, since he was a child. It was faint, but as he stood and opened his door, he could hear it clearer than ever. A skilled artist was pulling the bow over the strings of a violin; a melancholy piece, slow and angelic, carried its way down the corridor. Somewhere in the base, it seemed that Mikhail was not alone in his struggles to sleep.

He shut his door behind him, and followed the sound with ease. Without the Demo-Man’s disruptive guffaws and without Soldier’s proud proclamations, the halls were empty and quiet. It was as if there was a clear line, like a trail that led Mikhail out of the Defence corridor and past both the Support and Attack corridors. Instead, the sound led him into the underground, where only a few choice rooms were accessible. It was to the Medical Bay that Mikhail found himself.

From this side of the door, he could hear those sullen notes, how the bow wept to play them and yet how the violin sang like Heaven’s choir. And to think… Mikhail glanced about the door, the two large crosses glaring at him in the dark of the hallway. How could a man like the Medic, the man with that wicked grin and cruel laughter, how could he produce such a fine piece? Mikhail rested his forehead on the cool of the door, the metal biting slightly into his skin, but he cared little for it. He was much too focussed on the spell that bound him to his spot. He dare not press further, lest the harmony stop.

He did not know for how long he stood there. When the music had come to its end, he noticed his legs aching from how he had been standing, and he felt a slight burn in his brow from where he had rested it all this time. He pushed his weight off the door, the sound of gunfire and roaring bullets muted in his mind, replaced instead by the harmony he memorised. It was not a piece familiar to him. For all he knew, it could have been simply the Medic tugging on strings, unsure of what to perform. If it was, however, Mikhail still longed to hear it again.

He could just barely make out the sound of a shutting case, and then footsteps, slow but light heading towards the Medical Bay doors. Mikhail stepped back, turning his head to realise that there was no corner to duck around; no objects to hide behind. The door opened before him, and Mikhail was frozen in place. The man that stood before him still looked as impeccable and professional as he did before the battle, sweater vest and tie, button up shirt and ironed pants tucked into his boots. He seemed just as startled as Mikhail, taking a half step back at the other’s presence blocking the door. His steel blue eyes widened behind the spectacles, looking up at Mikhail with surprise and bashfulness. The faintest tint of pink entered the doctor’s fair cheeks, but he was quick to regain his composure, the colour disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“Herr Heavy.”

“Doktor…”

“Can I help you?” For a moment, the two of them stood there in silence. The other had gone back to his professional persona, the one he put on in the meeting before the battle. Mikhail cleared his throat, and shook his head, unsure of exactly what to say. He did not think he would be caught out so suddenly.

“Vell, zhen if you don’t mind, I shall be heading to bed.” Medic gave him a polite nod of the head, stepped around the giant of a man, and proceeded to make his way to the basement stairwell. As Mikhail watched him leave, he felt his voice trapped in his throat. He needed to say something. He should say something.

“Guten nacht, Herr Heavy.”

“Wait, Doktor.” The other stopped, but did not turn. He stood now at the base of the stairs, one hand on the banister. His head was tilted slightly, but otherwise, he gave no further attention to Mikhail. “I… Would you play again?”

The German turned on the spot, looking at Mikhail analytically, his eyes darting about the Russian’s face. He was looking for something. Something that Mikhail clearly did not have, or perhaps he did have? He did not know, but Mikhail felt the weight in his chest fall away as the German’s lips spread into a sincere smile. One that Mikhail had yet to see.

“I always do.” Medic’s voice was softer, less crisp. It was the voice of a tired man. A man who had found a kindred spirit in Mikhail. “Tomorrow night, you should join me. Don’t stand outside on your own, ja?” Mikhail nodded, feeling his own mouth part in a relieved smile. He followed the German up to the stairs, and as the man turned to lead the way up, Mikhail caught the faintest of that rose tint to the doctor’s cheeks.

“Da. Wish to watch you play next time.”

“Next time, mein freund, you vill.”

~X~

He still didn’t understand why they had to bring the Kraut along. The bespectacled soldier continued to snap and spit harsh words at them, all in that cruel tongue of his, as they marched their way through the broken cityscape. He did realise that with every insult with his raised voice, the chances of their heads being blown off increased, right? Probably. That was probably his plan. Bait them out to all enemy soldiers in this territory until someone finally unloaded a full rifle’s clip into the lot of them.

“Schweinhunds! Vor die brücke es gibt einen hinterhalt! Umdrehen! Los!”

Jeremy seethed, turning to glare up at the German, taking a handful of his uniform and bringing him close. Despite his anger, and despite the want to place a bullet between those steel blue eyes, the other seemed unthreatened. Instead, he bared his teeth and spoke slow, that voice deep and tainted with such a disgusting language.

“Wir warden alle sterben.” He repeated it again, slower when Jeremy showed no visible sign of understanding. “Wir. Werden. Alle. Sterben.”

“Hey, sarge,” Jeremy rounded on the man in front, tightening his grip in the heavy cloth, “why are we keeping this guy alive?”

“Trottel.”

“He’s done nothin’ but yell this whole time! How do we know he ain’t just gon’ run off in tha night and get us killed? Why we keepin’ ‘im around? I think we oughtta jus’ get rid of ‘im!”

“Enough, private!” Jeremy let the man loose, turning his attention to his superior, Sergeant Jane Doe glaring at him beneath the oversized helmet. “We keep him with us! Once we find someone that can speak his language, we can interrogate him.”

“I don’t like it either,” Conagher looked over at the two of them, holding up their radio, “it won’t be for a while, I can assure you. If we find someone, it’ll be at camp or by pure luck. And I’m not willin’ to bet anything on blind luck.”

“See that, sarge! We should jus’ kill ‘im now and get it over with!”

“I said ‘Enough’, private!”

There was a harsh ‘Ping!’ of something small and no doubt deadly hitting the steel supports, all four men ducking down behind the concrete wall. The German landed harsh, without the proper use of his hands, into the cement and brick dust, sputtering some unintelligible words. Jeremy raised his hand over the man’s mouth, hissing in pain as teeth bit down into his flesh, piercing skin. He wrenched his hand away, glaring at the soldier who just spat into the dirt.

“Where’d that come from? Did anyone see?” Conagher pulled out his shotgun, and with it, placed his helmet on the end of the long barrel. He raised it around the corner, but no gunfire was heard and no bullet pierced the metal.

“Wir sind zu weit…” There was a soft mutter. Jeremy could see those eyes darting about, as if attempting to read from beneath the cracked glass. He knew something. That had to be one of his! He knew the shooter!

“Where are they?!” His volume was low but the tone was harsh as he gripped the German by the lapels of his coat. “Where’s the shooter?”

“Ich weiß es nicht!” His voice was matched as the other pulled away with some force, wrenching himself out of Jeremy’s grip and resting his back against the wall. He coughed lightly, red staining his lips, whether it was the blood or dust, Jeremy had no clue.

“Private! Keep your head down!”

“I don’t know ‘bout this, fellers. Nothin’ bout this seems right.” Conagher had lowered his gun, replacing his helmet over his head. “It had to be a sniper. One bullet. That’s all there was. Think it mighta been a warnin’ shot.”

“Warnin’ shot?! You gotta be kiddin’ me. What? The krauts’ bein’ all merciful now?”

There was spit from the German soldier beside them, a harsh statement that got Jeremy’s temper to flare. Dell groaned, grabbing the boy’s arm right as he went to swing, pulling him back and away from their captive.

“Keep your voice down, boy. We don’ know who’s out there. Ignore him. Jus’ focus on stayin’ low.”

“We need to get to higher ground, men! Next floor might be a good vantage point.”

~X~

Mikhail felt a weight upon his chest, one that moved and groaned and gripped at the lapels of his jacket. He tensed, raising his hands to lift the body up by the hair, dark silken locks threading between his fingers. The form hissed, and as Mikhail stood, preparing to throw the walking corpse far from him, he was halted by the sight of a pained, but living face. No grey skin, or decaying flesh, but a bloody nose, fresh from their collision, and eyes squeezed tight in pain. He was in shock; not expecting to see another breathing human in the city, untouched save for the fracture to their nose.

“Ack! Let me down at vonce!” the voice pleaded, a little too loud for Mikhail’s liking. The gloved hands of Mikhail’s ‘attacker’ raised to attempt grabbing ahold of his fingers, or to transition the weight so less strain was put onto his scalp. Mikhail loosened his grip, letting the man fall to his knees, moaning slightly in relief.

“Who is leetle man?” he questioned, backing up a step to observe this man’s appearance further. His first observation; the white coat of a doctor. Well, it was a little long for a doctor of a regular hospital, more like a military uniform for a field of battle. The doctor hissed, standing, and retracting a hand into his coat to revealing a napkin for his injured nose to leak in to.

“Ich-… I’m a doctor. A medic… Ugh… I feel as zough I just slammed into a brick vall.” He complained, taking his own time to observe Mikhail’s form, those steel blue eyes tracing over his weapon and the duffel bag strung across Mikhail’s shoulders. “Ich bin in zhe basement of zhis clinic for some time. Vhere did you come from? I haff not seen anozher human in quite a long time.”

“It not matter.” Mikhail glanced about. With all the commotion from their accident, it was quite possible some of those corpses would come about to try and find them, and the last place he wanted to be was in the middle of the street in plain sight. “We go into basement now.”

“Nein- No! I don’t know who jou are… How do I know jou von’t just take mein research?” the man took a defiant stance, gritting his teeth and removing the stained napkin back into his pocket. “Mein vork is more important zhan any injury jou might haff, or any cold! I must complete it!”

“Quiet.” Mikhail hissed, grappling the man’s jaw to silence him and hurrying them both inside. The stranger struggled and scratched at his hand, but it hardly pierced the thick callouses of Mikhail’s skin. The door was shut and he dropped the man free from his grip.

“Are jou going to keep doing zhat?”

“Only if you put us in danger.” The doctor scoffed, running his hands through his hair, and fixing his collar, indignant. “How long have you been here?”

“Since zhe start. I vas one of zhe doctors forced to play zhe field medic.” He moved past Mikhail’s lumbering form, locking the door to the clinic with bolts and retrieving his makeshift weapon. It was a weird one now that Mikail had a better look at it and he couldn’t help but wonder how this man thought such a weapon to be useful. The doctor took quick notice of his confusion and just smirked. “It is very useful, more zhan vhat you might zhink.” There was a disbelieving huff from Mikhail, but he did not outright discredit the doctor’s opinion.

“How has leetle doctor been living here? There no food in city.”

“Nein, das is true,” said doctor once again moved around Mikhail and entered through a small door on the left of the small waiting room. Said waiting room was all very well kept, even dusted, save for a rather copious amount of feathers scattered about the floor and the odd patches of blood on the carpet. The entrance into what Mikhail assumed to be the basement was dark, the doctor being the only visible difference in such an unkind atmosphere. “But before I let jou in on company secrets, I need to know...” there was a series of short clicks as the doctor’s thumb turned and toiled with the rotating cylinder of his syringe gun, “haff jou bin bitten?”

“Chto?”

“Bitten? Haff jou had one of zhose valking corpses tear off a piece of flesh vizh zhere teezh?” Steel blue eyes turned up to Mikhail’s, but they weren’t filled with a threat, instead a… hunger? Desperation? No… it was a sinister fascination Mikhail recognised, tightening his fists ready to defend himself.

“Nyet.”

“Are jou certain?”

“Da.” There was a huff as that fascination died instead turning to disappointment.

“Shame… Vell, can’t be helped zhen! Since jou sort of forced your way in here, I might as vell offer you some food, ja? I’m sure jou must be hungry to come here looking for supplies.” The doctor offered, smiling and gesturing into the room and down what was now revealed to be an unlit staircase to a white light at the bottom.

“Nyet. Is not needed.”

“Oh, but I insist.” The man took one of Mikhail’s fist, still clenched tightly, but offered a gentle tug after him and down the stairs. Mikhail did not argue further, and followed. If he was a doctor and had been living here for some time, perhaps there was still medicine to be found.

“Doktor?”

“Ja?” he had led Mikhail’s heavy form down the steps, and into an operating theatre at the bottom, where the light near blinded the Russian’s eyes.

“Do… Do you have medicine?” he received a look that was almost questioning the intelligence in such a question.

“Vhat kind are jou looking for?”

“I… I don’t know.” That time he got a furrowed brow and a groan of frustration.

“Okay… Who vas it? Is it flu or fever? Is it an injury? Vhat has happened?” the doctor asked, turning to move across the room and open a series of cabinets.

“She… As you said, she ‘has had a piece of flesh torn off by teeth.” The doctor halted in his movements, turning to look back at Mikhail.

“Vhere did jou leave her?”

“Chto?”

“Ich need to know all of zhese answers, understood? It is essential. Vhere did jou leave her?” the doctor had turned around, grabbing ahold of Mikhail’s lapels and pulling him harshly down to his eye height, their nose almost touching.

“I… I left her with sisters and mother in apartment.”

“Do zhey haff veapons?”

“Da.”

“How long ago vas she bitten?”

“About fifteen minutes.” The doctor let out a frustrated breath, releasing the lapels of his jacket. However, Mikhail could see those eyes lighting up. He wasn’t sure he liked that look in the stranger’s eyes.

“I need to see her condition. Jou need to take mich to her now.” He commanded, his voice taking on a sharp and no-argument tone. He pulled out a small case, hurriedly tossing in an assortment of clean and disturbing instruments.

“Da. O-Of course! We go now!”

“Vait! Jou have to understand somezhing. I vill try to help her, but I cannot make any promises. If she is a strong individual, perhaps she has managed to keep the infection at bay, but if she dies-” Mikhail tensed, “IF she dies, I must insist das I research vas is left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerely,
> 
> HarcourtHolmesII.


End file.
